Empty Space
by CheeryEmo
Summary: After many tragic experiences with starvation, England will to do a lot in order to ease hunger pangs. He has absolutely no problem snacking some paper, or fabric. The problem is, he doesn't even care about any possible risks. He just doesn't want anyone to find out.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me.**

 **This is a story where our beloved England happens to be struggling with the eating disorder pica.**

 **Why I decided to write this: I've been trying to find a fanfiction in the hetalia fandom about literally _any_ character having pica, and was a little disappointed that I wasn't able to find any. That's when I decided after doing some more research on the disorder, "Why not write a fanfiction where England has pica? It might actually be believable." For those of you who are not sure what pica is, it is a disorder in which an individual eats items with no nutritional value as a way to cope. It is common in people who suffer with schizophrenia, OCD, and stress, and also those who have starved most of their life, and are therefore malnourished. Since I believe that England has in fact starved often as a child (based off a head canon), seems to go under a lot of stress, and I'm very certain he is schizophrenic, I decided that he would qualify. Besides, it could also explain why other nations might say that he has a terrible taste in food. Of course, I do not consider this theory (if you can even call it that) canon, but instead, consider it to be more of a what if.**

 **I understand that some unfortunate individuals with pica suffer with lead poisoning, and go through a lot of agony if and when their intestines become clogged with something that wasn't even edible. I am in no way trying to offend anyone who has, or have had this eating disorder.**

 **Trigger warnings: As I've mentioned before, there is an eating disorder involved with this story. Another heads up is that some of the content might (more like will be) graphic.**

 **Reviews are always welcomed.**

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England never really understood why he was addicted to eating objects with absolutely no nutritional value. It was just a habit of his, and a secret that he hid from the other nations quite well. He knew perfectly well that his habit was very strange, and at times was slightly ashamed of it. Unfortunately, the shame was not nearly enough for him to stop, since he still found a lot of joy in scarfing down different fabrics, chewing on leather, eating paper, or whatever wasn't poisonous. It was by far his worst covert, and no one was allowed to find out.

England was currently reviewing his his presentation for the world meeting that was to take place the next day. Much to the Brit's misfortune, the meeting was going to take place in America. By far one of his least favorite countries to spend the night in. To make the situation much worse, he had forgotten to pack up some spare food, since he was in such a hurry to make his flight. Of course, England could've just bought some food in America, but just for the sake of his pride, he was not going to eat anything made in a country he almost couldn't bare. _Well, I guess things could be worse,_ England thought bitterly as he continued to gaze at his notes, _Just imagine how terrible things would be if this stupid meeting was being hosted in France._

Suddenly, the British nation's thoughts began to trail off as he continued to stare at his notes. Of course, they were extremely important, but England just couldn't help but notice how appetizing they suddenly became. _Perhaps just one bite?_ He questioned mentally as his mouth began to water. It was almost as if England's mind had been set to autopilot as he commenced a mindless binge on his notes. Before he knew it, there was no a single scrap of paper left on his desk, and it didn't take long at all for the Brit to realize what he just did.

"Great," England was hardly able to refrain from starting a cussing storm out of his frustration, "I wasn't even halfway finished with planning out my presentation. Why couldn't I just find something else to fill up my stupid stomach?"

England did in fact seem to be right when he called his stomach stupid. After all, the organ didn't even seem to acknowledge the paper he had just swallowed in his attempt to stifle his hunger. Therefore, England walked over to his suitcase to see if he could find some unwanted clothing to eat. That was when he happened to find a long scarf coiled up in a forgotten, dark corner in the suitcase, no longer overshadowed by a stack of shirts. Lifting the scarf up, he asked himself, "Since when did I get a scarf like this, and how long has it been stuffed in here?"

He examined the length of the scarf, and continued to question, "Should I even bother eating this? It seems to be such an inappropriate thing to do to a scarf like this. What if I need it one day?"

For a moment, England continued to stare desperately at the scarf before finally sighing, "It looks as if I'm going to have to keep it. Seriously now, no one can eat a scarf this long without choking in the process."

Before England could tuck the scarf back into the suitcase, he heard a voice demand, "Don't put it away, eat it."

The Brit immediately paused as soon as he saw a perky light green rabbit fly right in front of him, and land on his suitcase. With a frown, England explained, "Flying Mint Bunny, I really don't think it would be safe to eat this entire scarf."

"Why not?" Flying Mint Bunny inquired, "You're hungry aren't you? It's not often that you come across such a decent amount of food. Just think about all of those years you've nearly starved to death in your childhood, and tell me this is a terrible idea."

Once more, England studied the length of the scarf before finally giving in, "Alright, if you insist. Besides, I could just cut the scarf up into smaller pieces so that it'll be easier to swallow."

"Don't," Flying Mint Bunny's voice was urgent, "Just swallow the scarf whole, so that you don't grow hungry too soon."

"Okay." England replied reluctantly before he obediently began to shove one end of the scarf into his mouth. An uncomfortable heat began to pinch at the back of the Brit's neck while the fabric remained in his mouth. He allowed himself to take a deep breath before he finally began to swiftly shove the scarf down his throat. Once in awhile he would stop to gag, but never would he even consider taking the scarf out before it was too late to give up. By the time the rest of the scarf had finally managed to slither down his throat, tears gathered up in his eyes. England had never felt so awkward in his life. He felt violated internally from how the scarf happened to slide down into his stomach. Flying Mint Bunny smiled with approval at the sight, and commented, "It's nice to be a nation, isn't it? You probably would've died if you did that as a human."

 _Oh god. Why did I even bother to go through with this?_ With a groan, England retorted, "I thought I could trust you. Why in the world would you tell me to do something if you thought it would be fatal to a human?"

"But there's no reason for you to not trust me," Flying Mint Bunny assured, his expression innocent and adorable as it usually was, "Just because I assumed that it would be fatal for a human, doesn't mean that it would cause any harm to a nation. Trust me, you'll be fine."

England shut his eyes tightly, and wrapped his arms around his stomach in an attempt to soothe the pain, "Whatever you say, my friend."

England then walked over to his bed, and decided to lie down on his stomach in hopes that it would ease the agony the only continued to intensify. Flying Mint Bunny seemed to notice that something was wrong with his friend, so he decided to curl up next to England in an attempt to comfort him. In response, the Brit began to stroke between the rabbit's ears. After all, it wasn't often that Flying Mint Bunny and him would cuddle. England's voice was nearly a whisper as he said, "Goodnight Flying Mint Bunny."

The bunny snuggled closer to England, and replied, "G'night Arthur."

For a moment, England couldn't help, but worry when he thought about how he wasn't prepared for his presentation. Fortunately, the worry didn't last for long as he assured himself, _It's not like it would be the first time a nation wasn't prepared for a meeting, so I should be fine. Besides, I don't really care at this point anyways. My stupid stomach is killing me._ He was still uncertain about eating an entire scarf, but decided to try and ignore these concerns, _Come on, Flying Mint Bunny would never try to hurt me. Besides, what's the worst that could happen if that did happen to be his intention?_

England would often doubt the word of another nation, since he could be pretty skeptical (At least he considered himself skeptical. Other nations would describe him as being more stubborn.), but never could he doubt the word of Flying Mint Bunny. He could always trust the adorable rabbit.


	2. Chapter 2

Approximately two hours passed since England had finally awoken from his twelve solid hours of sleep. Much to the nation's adversity, he ended up spending the couple of hours bracing himself for the on and off pain he had been experiencing in his abdomen. The stomach ache he had been experiencing also remained prevalent, but as always, the Brit would just suck it up, and ignore any pain that continued to come to him. Although, the task proved to become more difficult as time passed. The meeting hadn't even started yet, and it did make England wonder, as he continued to stare at the clock in the conference room, whether he would in fact be able to endure the entire meeting. After all, the meeting was planned to last for three hours. Not including breaks.

To make matters worse, both France and America coincidentally ended up being nearly as early as England. Thus creating more agony for the poor, irritated Englishman. France was already jabbing insults at him. Such as, "You look extremely pale Angleterre. Has the toxins from your own 'food' finally caught up with you?" or "Black sheep of Europe. Stop ignoring me!". Meanwhile, America continued to ramble on about how his plans of being a hero would actually work out this time, and that all of the world's problems would be resolved, or something along those lines. England wasn't exactly listening to his former colony, so the younger nation could've been talking about something else even more irrelevant for all he cared.

At last, England snapped back into reality as soon as a sharp pain suddenly shot through his lower abdominal area. The abrupt ache caused him to gasp, and cringe in his seat as he grasped his stomach on instinct. France noticed England's discomfort immediately, and asked with concern, "Are you feeling alright?"

By the time England recovered enough to utter a few words, he retorted, "Of course I'm fine …. y-you twit."

A look of uncertainty decorated France's face, but he concluded, "If you insist."

Only a few more minutes passed by before the meeting finally began. At first, this came to be a great relief for England, but once more he was brought back into his typical agitated self when he heard Germany announce, "Ve vill start zhis meeting vith a presentation from England."

 _Well, what am I supposed to say now?_ England thought as the room became much too warm for him, _I can't just tell them that I ate my presentation. Everyone would just bloody laugh!_ The silence continued to accompany the room as almost everyone stared at England expectantly. It didn't take long for Germany to lose his patience as he imposed, "Are you going to share your presentation or not?"

England finally decided to respond, "I'm not going to be presenting anything today."

Almost as soon as the words were said, America stood up from his seat, and exclaimed, "Hey! Does this mean that I go next!? I have something extremely impor-"

"No," France stated firmly, clearly agitated by the hyperactive American, "Now sit down you fat American!"

"Fat?" America chuckled, "At least I don't have body odor."

"I don't have body odor," France turned his head in a superior motion, in an attempt to show off his so called 'beautiful' golden locks, "Besides, I'm the one who's known for having some of the greatest cuisine in the world. What did you ever do that was so great? All you ever do is destroy everyone's economies."

"How can you say that?" America questioned, a proud smile present on his face, "If it wasn't for me, being the hero and everything, you wouldn't have made it during world war one. Besides, I was the one who started democracy!"

"That's not true!" France snapped back, "It was the French revolution that really created democracy!"

England rubbed at his temples as a headache began to set in, "Why don't you two just shut up already!?"

"Enough!" Germany yelled out, everyone in the room immediately grew silent. In a quieter tone, Germany continued, "Let's just continue this meeting without anymore interruptions."

England continued to persevere through the meeting as the pain in his stomach continued to become much worse. Every second felt practically as long as a minute to the Brit. By the time it the lunch break finally came around, England's vision began to grow dim. He didn't even acknowledge America and France's attempt to annoy him. Suddenly, a nauseous pang struck him, and he began to dash to the bathroom, his thoughts were scarce, and frantic, _I don't think I'll be able to make it!_

Soon, his words became true as yet another abdominal pain shot through him. Causing the Englishman to clench his stomach, and fall to his knees in the middle of the hallway. He felt feverish, somehow sweating when at the same time he felt frigid. His heart was racing at a near impossible rate, but he still felt extremely exhausted. Perhaps it was because England was not receiving enough oxygen from his short breaths. The confusion continued to torture the Brit's mind as he began to retch, completely unaware of the presence of the two nations he definitely didn't want around during such a situation. Meanwhile, those two nations; France and America, stood petrified at the scene, not at all sure how they were to react quite yet.

The fit of retching didn't last too much longer before England felt something thick come up his throat. It definitely couldn't be described as viscous, since whatever the strange substance was appeared to be, solid. The fit of retching was then replaced with a fit of choking. Whatever the strange substance was just wouldn't budge. As soon as France realized that England was choking, he ran over to the shorter nation, and began to perform an abdominal thrust on him. France continued to apply pressure to England's abdomen a few times before a scarf covered in vomit began to slither out of the nation's mouth. France stared at the scene, dumbstruck. After all, it wasn't everyday he witnessed such a strange, revolting sight.

As England continued to choke on the length of the scarf that was still in his throat, France realized that he had no other choice. Since there was not enough time to squeeze the scarf out in a more professional fashion, he was going to have to pull it out. Literally, he would have to grasp a scarf that was dripping with vomit, and continue to tug it out of the poor nation until it was all out. France absolutely hated this, but knew perfectly well that it needed to be done. Of course, he also knew that the procedure would possibly traumatize England as well. Possibly even more than it would traumatize France himself. With as much haste as possible, he began to pull the scarf out of England.

By the time the scarf was finally out, England let out a pained whimper while France dropped the scarf on the floor out of pure disgust. It was official, he wouldn't be eating in the next few days. America on the other hand began to hysterically cackle, "Oh my god, I'm dying! That's got to be the funniest thing I've ever seen! It was just like that one scene from Family Guy!"

At first, France was enraged by how apathetic America was being towards the situation, but then turned his attention towards England when he heard more pained sobs from the nation. As the Brit continued to writhe around on the ground, France tried his best to keep him still, and asked frantically, "Angleterre, can you hear me!?"

When England didn't respond, France turned to America, and exclaimed, "I think Angleterre needs to go to the hospital!"

"Aw, come on," America replied, still recovering from his intense laughter, "He's just overreacting. He'll be fine."

"No, he's not fine!" France snapped, and then asked, "You're the only one who brought your own car to the meeting, correct?"

America nodded, "Yes, but how exactly is this relevant to anything that's going on right now?"

"Mon dieu you're so stupid," France scowled as he explained, "this means that you can drive us to the hospital! It would be the most efficient way to get him there."

It was America's turned to become infuriated, "Wait a minute, who ever said that I had to-"

France snapped once more, "Come on Amerique, I don't care about how you feel right now! This is an emergency!"

"Fine," America growled in defeat, "I'll drive you guys to the hospital."

Relieved, France lifted England, and tried to make sure he was in as comfortable as possible in his arms before he followed America outside. Unfortunately, England pained whimpers and sobs remained consistent. France held England closer to his chest, and said to him in a soft voice, "It's going to be okay."

When they were in the car, France continued to hold England in an attempt to comfort him. In response, the hurt nation gripped the Frenchman's shirt as tightly as he could in an attempt to ease his pain. Eventually, England was able to utter some words as he whimpered, "It hurts so much…"

France felt his heart break just from hearing that simple statement. He had always known England for being a rather tough, and almost fearless nation. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state was just too much. France held England tighter as he soothed, "Shh, it'll be okay. The pain will go away soon."

England continued to rest his head against France's shoulder until he finally gave into the pain, and blacked out.

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 **Okay, maybe I made this chapter a bit too graphic. For those of you who were just beyond grossed out, don't worry. I don't plan on writing anything more disgusting.**


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